


Boats, Birds and Other Things

by UltimateSaladBar



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: depression (hinted)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-23 07:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19146745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateSaladBar/pseuds/UltimateSaladBar
Summary: The manor had dozens of free rooms to spare, yet in such a vast estate Lena still somehow found it difficult to find solitude.But the lone boat floating in the mansion pool had an aura of remoteness to it, and the captain of said boat didn’t object to newcomers.





	1. So a teenager and a sailor walk onto a boat

Lena lived just fine on her own. 

 _Correction_ , she _survived_ just fine on her own. 

Granted, a different type of survival than in the wilderness. But it was still survival. As a matter of fact, it was a little something Lena liked to call ‘urban survival’. It wasn’t hard to find food or shelter when you knew where to go and what to do. She’d scrape up a few bucks made mostly of nickels and torn dollars and then find a cheap fast food restaurant nearby, and boom -- you’d have your meal of the day. 

She tried to avoid going to the same circle of fast food restaurants too frequently. It was when they saw a grubby teenager wearing the same set of clothes walk in nearly every other day that they got suspicious. 

She pickpocketed, yeah, but she wasn’t a monster -- she tried to avoid pickpocketing overly valuable stuff like phones, watches, jewelry. But if someone just had a few spare bucks lying around in their purse or wallet, she couldn’t imagine them missing it more than she would. Besides, it was certainly better than scrounging around in a _garbage can_ for food like she’s had to do a few more times than she’d prefer to say.

Thankfully, most of that stuff changed when she moved into the mansion. The transition from being Webby’s shadow to now part of the McDuck family felt almost seamless. She recalled back to when Scrooge saw Lena for the first time since the Shadow War he had expressed a face of surprise before concealing it with a sly, knowing grin. He had promised her a place in his family, and with a simple tip of the hat to her, he walked away with his end of the deal kept. And hey, who was she to object? She got free shelter, free food, even free _television_. Compared to her living circumstances before, this was like heaven on earth. 

But if she were honest, she also suspected it was Webby’s grandmother who had a hand in all of it. There was no possible way to escape that lady’s all-knowing gaze. Most of the times it would send chills down her spine, but other times it was... oddly comforting, in a weird old-lady kind of way. She could see why Webby looked up to her, aside from the obvious fact that Beakley was, well, her _grandmother_.

But even despite all the newly-gained luxuries the McDuck Manor had to offer, Lena still found a part of herself... discontent. 

She admitted it felt selfish to be, of all things,  _discontent_ once you’ve gained a literal family and home above all else, but there was a constant sensation the manor gave that living on her own did not. She couldn’t rightly describe what it was, but ultimately she found herself... _craving_ the solitude. 

The manor was large, that was no question. Lena had been visiting the place for over a year and living in it consistently for about a month now, and she _still_ got lost from time to time. But in spite of its massive proportions, Lena still found that she felt overwhelmed by everything. The socializing, the adventures, the excitement that four other kids living in the same household gave. For Lena’s entire life she’d been alone. The presence of so many others made her almost feel, in a mental sense, _claustrophobic_. She didn’t want to go off on Webby or anyone else, but _yeesh_ she just needed some  _breathing room_. And unfortunately, that was a luxury the mansion didn’t seem able to offer.

But there was a boat. Of all things, there was a boat, in a mansion on a hill, inside a pool. Now, Lena was no idiot. She made that blatantly clear to anyone who looked down upon her as nothing more than a ‘ _kid_ ’. She knew who owned the strange boat; that headache-inducing sailor duck who Webby liked to fangirl over every now and again. Donald was his name, she knew this, but didn’t really care to call him by name. If anyone were to ask, she’d just say she barely knew him, because... well, she _did_ barely know him. But the boat piqued her interest. Virtually nobody bothered with it except for the sailor himself. Lena didn’t spare much attention to the drama within the family, but every now and again when she saw the duck get overly irritated, she watched him go to that boat and throw a couple of storming fits, trashing furniture, objects, kicking something and hurting his foot. Lena thought he was nuts. But what made her curious was the way he managed himself when something overwhelmed him. When something didn’t fit his fancy, he’d go to that boat and cool himself off there. 

It caused a curious sensation to arise in Lena that drew her to that boat. There was something about it that she just couldn’t describe. But when she stared at it from the window, sailor being present or otherwise, she was both puzzled and interested. She wouldn’t say it was some outward force drawing her to that boat, but... it sure felt like it. 

One day, when the McDuck family was off on some grand new adventure, that familiar inquisitive sensation became too much. And being the smart girl she was, she decided to remedy that by going to the exact place the feeling arose.

She stood on the makeshift platform that led to the boat. She was sure there was probably a weird boaty word for it, but she didn’t ponder on it long enough to remember. She stepped onto the deck and looked around. It was a bit of a mess, but nothing compared to some of her previous living arrangements. There were tools scattered about, mostly for repairs, she figured. A decorational wall art with the quote “Get It Done” on it was hanging cockeyed above a door that led down to what Lena presumed was the living quarters.

All in all, it was... underwhelming. Safe to say, Lena felt just a tad ridiculous for technically trespassing. She sighed and flicked her hair lightly to the side, before turning around and stepping off the boat to find something else remedy her boredom.

It was about a month later that Lena finally returned there.

It was a particularly stressful weak for the teenager, to say the least. It was as though Lena couldn’t get a minute to herself. She felt drained, constantly tired, and frequently snapped at anyone if they so much as glanced at her the wrong way. She had felt bad when Webby tried to convince her to go on a new ‘family trip’ and ended up having Lena shut a door in her face just to get some time away. When Webby got back from said trip Lena had apologized, but she could tell the pink-clad duck was still hurt by her action. Lena made note to never do that again.

But ultimately the desire to get away was still there. So, a while passed as she intentionally waited until most of the McDuck family was gone, and returned to that strange houseboat floating in the pool. Things were... largely the same visually speaking, except the place had been tidied up a bit. Most of the tools were put away and it appeared a fair amount of repairs had been finished. It still needed a fresh coat of paint and some tweaking here and there, but it wasn’t a half bad job for an unemployed duck. 

_Guess that’s what happens when you have a lot of time on your hands._

She leaned herself on the railing and tapped her feathers across the wooden top, watching as a leaf fell off a tree and glided itself down to land in the water.  She looked down at her shadow the sun had cast and the edges of her beak curled into an unenthusiastic smile as she closed her eyes and let loose a sigh of reprieve. Now, this -- _this_ is exactly what she needed. The ambience, environment, it felt similar to the amphitheater. A place she could get away purely to forget all her worries and cares. She may have _moved_ into the mansion, but she could never rid herself of that longing for solitude. And now, it was strange, to be so close to a place you wanted to escape from and yet _feel_ so far away from it at the same time.

Her eyes cracked opened for a brief moment before they shot wide once she heard some distant, yet approaching footsteps. She turned her head around to be greeted with the sailor-duck, who didn’t seem to notice her and was instead staring down at his phone as he walked, holding a single grocery bag in his other hand. He paused in his step once Lena’s presence finally caught his attention, and stood a few feet away from the platform leading up to the boat, confusion written on his face.

He blinked. “What are you doing here...?”

“Uh...” Lena swallowed hard and looked around for an excuse, desperately trying to shake off her suspicious appearance. “Looking for, uh -- you, actually!” Her beak curled into a characteristic grin and she seamlessly slid into character. “Yeah, Moneybags wanted to talk to you, said you should come with the family on their adventure. But -- _welp_ , looks like I’m too late, they already left. Sorry about that. Maybe next time.”

Without missing a beat or allowing him a word in edgewise, she shuffled past him as fast as she could without arising suspicion. In spite of her efforts, he still gave her a raised eyebrow and watched her as she went past, but didn’t pursue her further.

Shutting the door behind her as she entered the manor once again, she slid herself down the wooden door to the flooring with a massive groan. She knew there was no real problem she’d have to suffer other than _embarrassment_ from the ordeal, and she was lucky the only witness was the boring sailor, but she couldn’t help but imagine the amount of _mocking_ she’d get from the blue or green kid if they knew. It was enough for her to gain an instant headache.

With a sigh, she pushed herself up from the floor to go to the kitchen for a quick relief snack. 

She knew she was never stepping on that boat again if she could help it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, sorry about the lack of dialogue in this one, guys. It's mostly just Lena and her feelings right now. Don't worry, we'll get on to more interaction between the two... hopefully. Not sure how long this fic is going to be, but I'm expecting at least one to two more chapters at the most. I'm not very good at large fics, (or fics at all tbh) so don't expect more than that.  
> I spent way too long trying to figure out the word for amphitheater.
> 
> Also, happy birthday to Donald and Della! Come home soon, Donnie. We miss you :')


	2. Time and a place for ducking around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donald and Lena get to know eachother.

She stepped onto that boat again.

Believe it or not, this time it was not out of her own volition. The old guy, Scrooge, had asked a favor of Lena out of the clear blue one morning, and while she wouldn’t generally reduce herself to the point of an errand girl, she found herself bored as it was and saw no reason to object since it gave her something to do. However, she only agreed to it _before_ she actually knew what it was. So in an ironic twist and much to her chagrin... she had been sent to fetch the sailor. It was as though the universe was playing a practical joke on her. Still -- no biggie, she didn’t hold anything against the duck. _Truly_ , she didn’t dislike him, but she didn’t _like_ him either. Her indifference was something she prided herself on in multiple things involved in her life, and ultimately she preferred that not to change.

So that it was she found herself walking toward the houseboat at a leisurely pace, a tension in her back slowing her down slightly. And as she took the time to look around, she suddenly paused in her step when a familiar and alluring fragrance coming from the boat tickled her nostrils. Her pace subconsciously quickened at this, both out of curiosity and desire. 

When she reached the door she noticed a doormat beneath her feet and lazily wiped her shoes off before knocking. Not long after, she heard the sound of a metal utensil being dropped and the occupant presumably slipping on something while letting out an _OOF_. She cringed in sympathy and waited patiently for an answer. A scarce action, for her.

The door opened, and behind it stood Donald Duck, to nobody’s surprise. But what _was_ surprising was the ridiculously tall chef’s hat he wore crooked atop his head along with a light blue apron tied around his waist that read ‘World’s Best Chuncle (Chef Uncle)’. 

Safe to say, she was doubting this man’s sanity.

The duck stared down at her for a brief moment that seemed to stretch onward, perhaps waiting for her to speak first. When the girl said nothing, he finally resolved to uttering the first word.

“...Lena?”

 _Oh good, he remembers my name._ “Yep, that’s me. Anyways, I’m here because--” 

“--Sorry,” He interrupted her with an anxious expression on his face. “Can ya hold on a hot second? I’ve got something in the oven I don’t wanna burn.”

She winced at the duck’s rough, almost high-pitched voice. To her, it sounded like a violinist raking a bow down the strings with the full intent of sounding bad as possible. Whenever she talked to him before she had found that it was basically like playing a constant game of charades, and anytime she happened to ask him to repeat what he had said, the sentence came out just as garbled as before. Because of this she quickly learned to avoid asking, for her own sake.

Biting back an instinctive taunt about it, Lena casually nodded in agreement. Donald then offered a quick smile in response before receding back into the houseboat, leaving the door open.

From the inside, she heard him shout _“Feel free to come in, if ya want!”_ while the sound of an oven door opening followed and the scent from before thickening.  

She crossed her arms and debated whether or not to accept the offer. Though she was curious about whatever he was making, it wasn’t a strong enough desire for her to enter. If she walked in there was she going to be subjected to small-talk? Asked what kind of college she wanted to join when she was older? _Gosh_ she hated it when adults did that.

Groaning inwardly, she stepped down the stairs into the houseboat while closing the door behind her. Suddenly she was hit with the sweet aroma. Looking at the oven, she knew now where that scent was sourced from as she saw the sailor pull out a baking sheet topped with perfectly browned cookies. She couldn’t tell what kind they were, but they smelled _delicious_.

He placed the sheet on the stovetop and glanced her way with a smile, though confusion still rested on his face. “So, whaddya doing here?”

_Straight to the point, at least._

“Scrooge wants to talk to you.” She responded, pleased to finally fulfill her purpose for being there. “He sent me here to tell you. Guess he doesn’t know that texting is a thing these days.”

“Uh-huh, and what’s he wanna talk about?”

“Don’t know. He didn’t say. Better go see him, though. It might be important.”

He waved off her suggestion with a free hand. “Ahh, nah. That old man can wait. He’s survived this long already. If it was really important he would’a came here himself or sent one of the boys. Besides, I still got work to finish up here.”

She frowned at his response, not fully expecting it. Granted, she was only sent to tell him that he was needed and not to escort him, but now what was she supposed to do? Just go back and tell Scrooge ‘ _Sorry, your nephew’s too busy making baked treats to talk to you._ ’? 

Admittedly it... would be amusing to see the old man’s reaction to that.

She glanced toward the doorway and then back to the sailor, who held a mixing bowl filled with more dough that he was stirring with a silicone spatula. Crossing her arms, she contemplated whether or not to go, and if it would be worth it to try swindling the man out of one ~~_or two_~~ of those cookies.

Donald seemed to catch wind of her indecisiveness and gestured toward the dining booth with the spatula. “Take a seat. You can wait until this batch has cooled off and have some. I don’t make ‘em to hoard ‘em all to myself, ya know.”

Lena, pleased with the suggestion, took him up on his offer and made her way toward the booth, slightly pulling out one of the free-standing chairs and sitting on it with her arms laying across the top of the back and her beak resting on them as she watched him work his magic.

“So, you’re... cooking?” She cocked her head slightly to the side and raised a brow. “Why would you need to do that? Doesn’t Mrs. _‘I’m the boss around here’_ do most of the food making for the manor?”

“Heh,” The duck lightly chuckled and placed the spatula down to reach for a towel to wipe his hand, “--It’s called baking when ya use an oven. And I do it because it’s fun.” He then began scooping up the dough with a spoon and placing it on a baking sheet in rows of thirds. “My grandma taught me all kinds of recipes when I was your age.”

_Does he actually know how old I am?_

“Uh-huh.” Was the only response the girl offered to his comment, and instead of striking further conversation she prompted for leaning her head on the palm of her hand as she stared out of one of the portholes. She didn’t care much that she was blatantly avoiding conversation, and the silence was ultimately more welcoming to her than any small-talk she’d end up having to experience. 

Donald side-eyed her for a split moment, taking a brief second to pick up one of the now-cooled cookies from the stovetop and offer it to her. “Not one for chatting, huh?” He smiled at her in a near contagious way. “No worries, being quiet ain’t a crime.”

She accepted the cookie without question, taking a bite and soon finding all her expectations blown out of the water. It was oatmeal raisin, which would’ve normally been a cookie that most kids detested in comparison to other baked treats, but the same definitely couldn’t be said for _this_ one. She took herself to be something of a down-to-earth type of person and would probably stick it to someone like Dewey to say a _cookie_ of all things was like tears from the gods, but this... this cookie was something else.

“Wow,” She huffed, taking the last bite. “okay, I give. Beakley’s got some catching up to do. You could actually sell this stuff.” _And_ she knew she’d buy it. That is -- if she ever had the money. 

The duck chuckled in response, though beneath his expression it was easy to tell he expected that kind of reaction from her. “Sure, I could if I wanted. But I like baking on my own time.” He flicked his head at the stovetop, offering for her to take more if she wanted. “ **’** Sides, it tastes better that way.”

She was quick to respond to his offer by taking two, taking a bite out of one and stuffing the other in her pocket for later. She returned to her seat and soon found a contented expression sat on her face. Though at first thought she didn’t figure she’d want to spend any longer than a minute on the boat had she known prior that anybody else would be there with her, but now she found the environment more welcoming than she first gave credit for, and the sailor didn’t seem to mind her quietness either -- aside from the occasional snarky comment she found amusement in. Plus, the provided snacks were good too. 

An hour seemed to go by rather fast in that boat. In that time Donald had finished up his baking and had placed the majority of the cookies in a zip-lock baggie with some other goodies he had made prior to her arrival, and then handed the baggie to Lena and asked her to take it and share with the rest of the kids while he went to see what Scrooge needed of him. She huffed silently to herself at the concept of suddenly becoming everyone’s errand girl, but didn’t object such an easy task and agreed to it without complaint. When she left the boat, she noticed the tension in her back was gone, and a content expression stuck to her face.

After that day, Lena visited the houseboat more often.

Sometimes Donald was there, sometimes not. She didn’t mind either way. But whenever he was there, the sailor always seemed to be doing something different. Whether it be repairs, tidying his houseplants, cooking and/or baking. For a guy who spent a fair amount of time to himself, he sure found a lot of ways to occupy his time. But every now and again Lena would catch him doing... nothing. Absolutely nothing. When she would step onto the boat and catch a glimpse of him through a porthole, she’d see him sitting with the lights off at the dining booth just staring plainly and tiredly down at the table. She would watch him for perhaps an absurd amount of time and he wouldn’t move a muscle. 

She caught him in different instances like this, but always something similar. Usually... it was always on the boat. And some weeks she noticed he would do it more often than usual. 

One day, when the curiosity bubbled inside her, she garnered enough gumption to ask the sailor why he did this. The expression his face responded with had told her that he didn’t expect such a peculiar question, but then he simply answered with  _“It’s all I can do some days.”_ while drawing back to himself and seeming to gain a faraway look in his eyes.

For some reason, she felt she could relate.

A week later she sat atop the counter in the boat, watching the older duck chop some carrots for what she was told was a stew. The two occupied the room in silence. Whenever Lena felt chatty enough, she’d say a word or two and get a conversation going. But during the other times when she preferred to just sit in the quiet, neither would object.

Then, out of the blue...

“You’re like me.” Donald said.

Her eyes opened in bewilderment. “What?”

“You’re like me.” He repeated, glancing her way with a tired smile on his face.

Her brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“Sometimes,” He started. “Everything else is just too much for ya, and ya need some time to yourself. I do it too. Always have. Ya might even call it the McDuck curse.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” She huffed out a chuckle and looked around the room, spotting some of the furniture that had clearly been broken before but repaired -- likely as a result of the sailor’s infamous tantrums. “I could tell. Only thing is, I’m not a McDuck, and I _doooon’t_ really try to trash my house when I stub my _toe_.” 

“Hey now,” He narrowed an eye at her. “Ya don’t have to be angry to want some quiet time. Don’t think I don’t see you coming around here when I’m not looking. And who says you’re not a McDuck?”

“Uh, the laws of nature? Magica made me. Ring any bells?”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile clung to his beak. “That witch couldn’t make a gal like you if she was held at knife-point. You’re a McDuck, and that's that.”

She drew herself back at hearing the comment. It astonished her, and she didn’t know what to say. She was simply at a loss for words. Was it a compliment? Was it supposed to be reassuring? Webby wasn’t a McDuck either, but to Lena, there was no line to even be drawn there. To her, Webby was a part of the McDuck family, biologically speaking or not. But she never felt of her own self in the same way. Granted, she hadn’t lived at the manor long and had only known the McDucks themselves for about a year, and even though she now saw them as her _family_ , she still felt to herself that she wasn’t one of them.

She looked down at her hands, pondering the comment and what it meant. It was oddly reassuring, though she didn’t know she even needed it. 

And when she looked up toward the other duck, he was staring at her with a gentle, knowing look on his face.

_McDuck, huh? I could get used to the name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there guys. second chapter, some actual interaction this time. Lot of interaction, actually. Gotta be honest with you, I'm not used to writing such lengthy fics with such large amounts of dialogue between two characters, so this was definitely a mental exercise for me. Sorry if the pacing went too fast at times. Also, I'm well aware of Donald's apparent inability to cook in the show. I just think several comics & cartoons of him from before say otherwise.  
> I think there'll be one more chapter after this.


End file.
